


An Exploration of Faith and Description

by jack_inaboxx



Series: crack in the glass [25]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack_inaboxx/pseuds/jack_inaboxx
Summary: Faith can complicate how you see someone.
Series: crack in the glass [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774129





	An Exploration of Faith and Description

Out of the fog he came, and it was like watching the sun rise. 

He wore a coat of white dragonscale, that shimmered when it caught the light just right, and a shirt of embroidered silk. His boots were great bear hide, his vest of the softest halla leather, and a sash made from what must have been woven sea, it gleamed and moved so smoothly. 

But none of it was decorative, no, not then and not now; the scales, fireproof, and nearly hard as diamond, the embroidery careful-woven runes. Great bear hide is known for it’s resilience, and the vest hides dragonbone plating. Beneath the sash is hidden a belt of Dalish charms, old and worn and powerful. 

On his back, a bow crafted of supple bone, runes engraved in glass, infused with serault. At his sides, two dual-bladed daggers, carved from onyx and inlaid with silver. When placed together, the inlay tells a story, woven from the shining silver against the dark of the blades. 

And so rises the sun, borne upon a great Hart with a coat of burnt oak and all-seeing eyes. 

The steps of the Hart are silent, even in the eerie quiet that only comes from battle, suddenly halted. At the first glimpse of shimmering white, weapons are lowered, breath held. 

“Enough,” the Herald says, and the soft word, spoken with such a gentle tone, demands no resistance. 

And who would resist? Only fools, surely. 

Weapons are dropped, laid down, tossed aside. Men stop and look. A brother, there, in enemy colors, cousins on the opposite side. How much family blood is on those blades? 

Some weep. Others embrace. All grieve, and forgive, and regret. 

While they have attention only for each other, I look to the Herald. Not the proud mount or the gleaming armor, the title or the hope, but the man, the elf, who stands behind it all. 

His skin is copper-bronze, with brushes of dirt in places. His fingers, elegant still, are worn with callouses and scars. A narrow face, ears that come to a graceful point, and sharp jaw all define a typically elfin face. The faint markings on it, faded with time, pledge his heart to his people, even as he wears the title of Herald, of human hope. 

That face is tired- tense around the corners of the eyes and slightly worn. There are lines on his face so faint as to be invisible, and the dark hair that looks silken from a distance is disordered, resting in a ragged tie at the back of his neck. 

Striving to lead this quest, to close the Breach in the sky, is taking it’s toll. 

The expression speaks volumes, for all he frowns, because it’s too tired for a frown; the tilt of his brow is sad, the bow of his mouth tilted down. The scars- small, but deep, the worst to have, the sort that leave scars on the soul- cut across his brow and his jaw, marring the markings on his face. 

The Anchor in his hand shines, even through the leather wraps, distracting me for only a moment with it’s sickly green light. It looks like it should hurt. I wonder if it does. 

When I look back to his face, it is to find clear violet eyes meeting mine. Those eyes hold secrets, many secrets, and an underlying sadness even deeper than that on the rest of his face. Behind them, I almost think I can see something sharp, and very old. 

He knows, I think abruptly, he’s seen right through me, all the way to the core of my being. I know that it’s not a rational thought, but it strikes me as entirely true. He knows all that I am. 

I cannot meet his eyes any longer, and I look away, down, anywhere but that shade of brilliant purple. I think he smiles (and I do not know how I know this). 

When I look for him, later, he is gone, as swiftly and silently as the fog which brought him in the first place.


End file.
